Michael Malone - Weebly

she and Tracy had always played the roles of the
enlightened sophisticates, cynics and critics, whereas
Evelyn Troyes had been cast as the moonstruck
romantic. And Beanie as (what was her son Ray's
term?), as, yes, the jock. Now, not only was Evelyn
burning a tank of gas a day in pursuit of that pinkcheeked
curate, Jonathan Fields, but Beanie had run
sexually amok, and Tracy was off twice a week
scattering roses on her husband's tomb. Mrs. Ransom
began to wonder if perhaps she were missing
something, if something were missing. Annoyingly, a
phrase from that anonymous letter bullied its vulgar way
into her mind. Did she, after all, have whatever it was
up her tushie? Could one be a Lezzie and not notice?
She thought it unlikely. Even if the big dong had never
much appealed either.
Today was the seventh anniversary of Vincent
Canopy's completely unexpected death while discussing
golf clubs with Ernest Ransom during the celebration at
the Dingley Country Club of Vincent's twenty pleasant
years with Tracy Dixwell.